


Dada

by SummerStormFlower



Category: DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: Cute babies, Family Feels, Family Fluff, First Day of School, Gen, Growing Up, Hurt and comfort, baby ducks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:08:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21568168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SummerStormFlower/pseuds/SummerStormFlower
Summary: Donald’s baby nephews begin to call him “Dada”. He tries to teach them how to say “Uncle”. Huey eventually catches on. Dewey switches back and fourth. Louie doesn’t stop until he’s six.
Relationships: Dewey Duck & Donald Duck & Huey Duck & Louie Duck, Dewey Duck & Huey Duck & Louie Duck
Comments: 29
Kudos: 500





	Dada

He’d done everything right. He took Louie’s temperature, gave him his medicine, wrapped him in blankets when he was cold, put a wet cloth on his forehead when he was hot, and called the doctor. For once, he hadn’t made any mistakes. So why did it feel like he’d messed up?

Maybe because Louie was crying, his fever making the poor baby duck feel horrible. Donald hated that his nephew was sick. He knew how much being sick sucked. 

Louie didn’t want to eat, or drink, or take a bath—Donald had tried his hardest to convince him, but there was no arguing with a stubborn one-year-old. All Louie wanted was to be held and cry. His eyes were red and so was his nose, dry and sensitive from being blown so many times. 

Huey and Dewey were in their playpen, and for once, Dewey wasn’t trying to climb out. They hadn’t taken their eyes off of Louie since he’d gotten sick this morning. (Huey had gotten sick once. The other two had cling to him while he sobbed and sneezed. They hated it when one of them was in pain).

“Come on. Give me a break, Louie,” Donald said, pacing back and fourth in the living room while he rocked his nephew. “What can I do to make you happy?”

Louie just kept crying.

“Can I sing you a song?” Donald asked. 

The tears didn’t stop, but Louie’s sobs quieted a little. Donald took that as a yes. He cleared his throat and started singing quietly. He used to feel a tad strange singing his sister’s song to the boys; like he was stealing something from her. But it always made the boys feel better when they were sad, so he kept doing it. Now it didn’t feel strange anymore. He couldn’t remember the least time it’d felt strange. 

Louie’s tears stopped. He snuggled against Donald’s chest, sniffling and breathing through his mouth. 

Donald sang the song again, hoping to soothe Louie to sleep. Huey slowly began to sing along, making soft sounds that weren’t quite words. Dewey joined in too, loud and off-key, and Huey glared at him.

Donald smiled, looking down at Louie. Louie was on the verge of sleep, but was fighting it. He was watching his brothers, expression intrigued and fond. They sang for a little while longer, and eventually, Louie’s eyes fell closed, snoring softly. 

Donald shushed Huey and Dewey, who quietly went back to playing with their blocks. With a tired sigh, Donald sat down on the sofa with Louie in his arms. If he could, he would sleep too, but he had to keep an eye on his other kids. When one got sick, the other two usually weren’t far behind.  
____________________________________________________________________________

The other two usually weren’t far behind. It applied to them for just about everything. They liked to copy each other, and sometimes they did it on purpose, sometimes it was by complete accident. Sometimes it was just bound to happen. 

Donald should have seen it coming. 

It was an early Sunday morning. Donald had the day off, which he was grateful for. He’d worked all week, leaving the boys with five or six different babysitters. He was still looking for a permanent babysitter—one who was both good (because no way was Donald leaving his nephews in someone’s care if they weren’t qualified) and cheap. It was a work in progress, and Donald didn’t always have enough money, so he had to take the triplets to work with him every now and then. 

For some reason, the boys had decided it was time for breakfast at five in the morning, each of them waking up one by one. The sound of their gurgles and giggling on the baby monitor woke Donald up. Luckily, none of them cried. 

They were at the kitchen table, and Donald was taking turns feeding them in their high chairs, when it happened. 

Donald turned to Huey with the spoon. Huey grinned at him and said his first word. 

“Dada.”

Donald froze. In theory, he really should’ve seen it coming, but he hadn’t and he had no clue how to react. (Maybe he hadn’t expected it because he’d never expected to be more than an uncle).

“Dada,” Dewey giggled, and Donald jumped. Apparently, this was also one of those ‘the other two usually weren’t far behind’ scenarios. 

Sure enough, Louie said it too. “Dada.”

Donald’s heart dropped to his stomach. He had the same feeling he’d had when moving the crib his sister bought into his bedroom. A very wrong feeling that made his chest hurt and his eyes sting. 

“No, it’s uncle! Uncle. Can you say uncle?” Donald asked, smoothing Huey’s feathers back when they fell in his eyes. The boys needed haircuts, but Donald has been putting it off. Fear spiked through him whenever he thought of anything sharp coming near his boys. 

“Dada!” Huey laughed. 

“No, no. Uncle,” Donald said slowly, “Uncle. Can you say uncle?” There was a lump in his throat. A child’s first utterance of their name was supposed to make a parent’s heart soar. But Donald wasn’t supposed to be a parent. His sister was, not him. Her name was supposed to be the babies’ first word, not his. (Donald remembered how he used to steal his sister’s things all the time. But he’d never wanted to steal this from her. It wasn’t supposed to be like this).

“Dada!” Dewey said with a grin, trying to grab the spoon from Donald’s hand. 

“No, it’s—“

“Dada!” Louie exclaimed, making himself and his brothers giggle. 

Soon, it turned into a game of some sort. One triplets shouted out ‘Dada’, then two did, then all three did it together, and they’d burst into laughter, like it was the funniest thing in the world. 

Maybe it was funny in their little world. And maybe, if Donald had recorded this moment and watched it later, he would’ve thought it was absolutely adorable. But instead, he squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to cry.  
____________________________________________________________________________

Huey was smart. He learned quickly, he noticed things most toddlers his age didn’t, and he had a knack for organization. He loved to explore and was curious about everything. Once, he’d even come to Donald with his favourite bedtime story, saying he wanted to learn how to read. 

It came as no surprise that Huey was the first to learn the word ‘Unca’ and that he wasn’t supposed to call Donald ‘Dada’.

Dewey was a ball of energy. He never stayed in one place, it took forever to get him in bed, and candy just made the kid insane. Dewey was the sole reason Donald kept in shape. But he loved to cuddle. Cuddle time was the only time he actually stayed still for more than five minutes. 

Dewey was the second to learn the word ‘Unca’. However, he often forgot things, as most children did. So sometimes he called Donald ‘Dada’ and sometimes, he called Donald ‘Unca’.

Louie was a love bug. He was amazingly quiet, loved to colour, and content to curl up on the sofa with either the tv or radio on. He wasn’t huge on cuddling, but he liked being held. Donald had to carry him in public; he started to cry the second Donald attempted to put him down.

“Uncle.”

“Dada.”

“No, Uncle. Come on, say it with me. Uncle.”

“Dada!” Louie giggled, eyes crinkling with mirth. It was adorable, but Donald was getting tired of what Louie thought was a game. 

“Uncle,” Donald tried one last time. 

Louie grinned. “Dada!” he exclaimed, and burst out laughing. 

Donald sighed. Huey and Dewey had caught on. He couldn’t understand why Louie wasn’t. 

“Dada,” Louie said, holding out his arms. 

No matter how frustrated or exhausted Donald was, he’d never turn down a hug from one of his babies. He picked Louie up, letting him rest his head on his shoulder. 

“Dada.”

Donald sighed again, kissing the top of Louie’s head. “But I’m not your dad.”  
____________________________________________________________________________

The kids’ first day of preschool was chaos. Nothing prepared them for when they had to say goodbye to their uncle. 

There was crying and even some screaming. Louie clung to Donald’s leg in the doorway, and Huey buried himself in Donald’s chest. Only Dewey was alright, his eyes on the room, the toys, and the other kids, excited and fascinated by the combination of it all. 

Dewey liked adventure. He had ever since he’d come into the world, ecstatic by all the new things he could see. 

Huey liked new things, which often went hand in hand with adventure. But he took comfort in familiarity and got scared when there was too many things he couldn’t recognize. 

Louie didn’t like adventure or new things. He liked his colouring book, the sofa, the tv, and that was it. 

“Come on, guys. I’ll be back later,” Donald said soothingly, hugging Huey and Louie close. 

“No go!” Huey sobbed. 

“Daddy!” cried Louie, clutching Donald’s pant leg tighter. 

Donald sighed. By now, Huey and Dewey called him ‘Uncle’ all the time, but Louie still didn’t. Donald had sat down and talked with him about it many times before. Louie didn’t stop though.

“It’ll be okay,” Donald told them, stroking his fingers through their hair. He’d finally worked up the nerve to take them to a hairdresser. “I’ll be back. I promise.”

Huey and Louie didn’t let go of him.

“This is hard for me too, okay,” Donald said, and it was true. This was much different than leaving the boys with a babysitter. Now they were in school. Which meant they were growing up. That was a scary thought. “So I need you to be brave,” he continued, “Can you two be brave for me? I’ll be brave with you.”

Louie sniffled, loosening his grip on Donald’s leg. Huey wiped his eyes, but he was clearly still overwhelmed by this unfamiliar place. 

“It okay,” Dewey spoke up, putting a hand on both his brothers’ shoulders, “I be brave for you guys.”

Donald smiled, his heart swelling. (His boys. He loved his boys so much).

“You promise?” Louie asked.

Dewey nodded genuinely. “Promise.”

Louie cast one last look to Donald, who smiled at him encouragingly. Then he let go of Donald’s leg and held onto Dewey’s hand.

Huey slowly followed suit, still crying, and he squeezed Dewey’s other hand tightly. Dewey kissed his cheek. 

“Okay boys,” Donald said, hiding his sadness at having to leave them. He kissed the top of their heads, then stood up.

“Bye, Unca Donal’!”

“Bye, Unca.”

“Bye bye, Daddy.”

Donald smiled back at Dewey, Huey and Louie. He waved, blew three last kisses, then walked out the door. (In any other place, he would’ve corrected Louie. This time though, he’d let him get away with it. Just this once).  
____________________________________________________________________________

It was storming outside and the boys were five when Dewey asked about their mother for the first time. 

“Unca Donald, where’s our mommy?”

Huey and Louie perked up immediately upon hearing this. All three stared curiously at Donald, waiting expectantly for him to answer. 

Except it was too much for Donald. The day he lost his sister was the day his nephews were born. Suddenly needing to take care of them, he hadn’t had the time to grieve properly.

Everyday the boys got a little bit older, the more Donald saw his sister in them. He’d forced himself not to see it though, because he knew it’d make him unravel if he did. But now he was unraveling—the pain he’d locked inside a box in the corner his mind, cracking—and it felt like a part of him was literally breaking.

Before he really knew what was happening, his arms were full with three little ducks. 

“Unca Donald, don’t cry,” Huey said, touching his face and drying the wetness there.

Donald swallowed. He loved his boys so, so much. They deserved to know. He had to do this. He could do this. For them. 

“Your mom,” Donald began. He didn’t recognize his own voice. “Y-your mom. She... she’s—“

Huey, Dewey and Louie hugged him tighter. 

“She’s—“

Donald couldn’t do this.

“She’s not here.”

The boys didn’t ask about her again.  
____________________________________________________________________________

“For the last time, Louie!” Donald struggled not to raise his voice, “I’m your uncle!”

Huey and Dewey were hiding behind the corner, watching the argument with worried eyes. 

Donald tried not to argue with any of his nephews. The more they grew though, the more they acted against his rules. Donald hated being strict, but he had to put his foot down.

Louie crosses his arms, expression angry. “Then who is my dad?”

Huey and Dewey’s eyes widened.

However, this wasn’t like the time Dewey had asked about their mom. This time, Donald couldn’t answer because he didn’t have an answer.

(When Donald went to bed that night, he stayed up staring at the ceiling, wondering about that question too).  
____________________________________________________________________________

When the boys made cards and art for Mother’s Day, they gave them to Donald. And when they did the same for Father’s Day, they gave cards and pictures to Donald too. 

At first, Donald choked up and said he couldn’t accept their gorgeous gifts (meant for other people).

But then Huey’s face had crumpled and he asked, “Then who do we give them to?”

So Donald had put their cards and their pictures on the fridge, pulled the boys in close, and told them he loved them.

“We love you too,” they replied immediately. It made Donald’s heart melt every time.  
____________________________________________________________________________

Louie didn’t stop calling Donald ‘Daddy’ until he was six. 

It was Donald’s birthday, and the boys had made him a cracker cake (and a mess to clean up). They surprised him with breakfast in bed. They sang to him and gave him the presents they’d made for him. 

Huey made him an origami sailor hat. His teacher had taught them origami for a project, and Huey had taken an interest in it, so he’d been learning from her in his free time. 

Dewey made him a book. Well, it was actually a folded paper with drawings in it, but Donald thought it was perfect. Dewey read the story to him twice. It ended differently each time. 

Louie made him a picture. In bright glittery gold were the words “Best Uncle Ever”.

“Happy birthday, Da—Uncle Donald,” Louie told him.

Donald had been trying to get Louie to call him Uncle for six years. Now he’d said it, Donald was... happy to hear his youngest say that. 

Yet at the same time, he felt kinda cold inside.

Pushing that strange feeling aside, Donald smiled and kissed Louie’s forehead. “Thank you.”


End file.
